


consider the hairpin turn

by lucyjaggat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Pining, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-12-30 06:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyjaggat/pseuds/lucyjaggat
Summary: Your faith in him is so large that it displaces all others. Short Jon/Martin fics. Loosely chronological, following the series.





	1. the gentleness that comes

Ever since you found out what he could do, how he can pull knowledge from people, you’ve been having dreams. Nothing too mad, nothing as hazy and charged as the dreams before where you woke up gasping and thrusting, sweating with want. Just. You know. Dreams. 

You dream about Jon asking you things. There’s so much you would tell him, if he only asked. There’s so much you want to tell him. Not just about you and your feelings for him, but about him. He sees so much but not so clearly about himself.

It’s the little things. You want to tell him about how you love the way his hair is always a few weeks to a few months overgrown, fringe hanging into his eyes more often than not. You want to brush it away and your fingers near ache with the desire to. There seems to be more white on the sides. You wonder if that’s an output of stress, or something to do with the Beholding somehow. If those powers care about something as insignificant as the Archivist’s hair. Surely no one else assigns the importance to it that you do. 

You hear the tape recorders whirring more often than not. You know that the statements help, that Jon seems to get more sustenance from them than from the biscuits and snacks you keep accidentally but not accidentally leaving on his desk. You would give him a statement, if he asked. You would give him anything. 

When he starts smoking again, you make a decision. You steel yourself. You print out some facts on what smoking does to the lungs, how it affects the body. You leave it on his desk and wait. Within a few hours, the printouts are carefully folded and placed on your desk. Even this rejection feels like a benediction. 

Sometimes you try to write out how you feel, but nothing seems to really capture it. Jon isn’t just Jon, you know this. He’s something bigger than that. He’s the Archivist. When he deigns to meet your gaze, there’s always some part of him abstracted, far away, frozen in some remote concerns that you couldn’t even hope to compete with. The fucked-up part is that you accept this. There’s always some part of you that sighs in ecstatic dejection, ready for more loneliness to revel in. You feel you deserve it, that his lack of regard is your due. On better days, you know this isn’t true. You still bring him tea. 

In a workplace where everything is changing and people can be so readily replaced, Jon is your constant. Your faith in him is so large that it displaces all others. There is nothing that can shake it: not Tim’s imprecations, not Elias’ insinuations, not the questions and recriminations and the poor treatment you receive. You decide your task is to help Jon, and you do it.


	2. not from the absence of violence

Things get violent. Institute work, while never exactly boring, drops all veneers of normalcy and routine. You’re pretty sure the turning point was Jane Prentiss and the two weeks you spent trapped in your apartment, unable to contact anyone and praying to anyone who would listen. Or could see. Then, you know, the attack: brandishing a corkscrew and hoping for the best that things would turn out alright. 

Looking back, you reckon most of the responsibility for this rests on Jon. Things were never quite boring, that’s true, but there’s no denying that there is something objectively different about Jon’s tenure as Head Archivist. At first you wondered at his promotion, convinced that he deserved it but uncertain that others had the capacity to recognize his worth. Now you know better. Jon shines. He draws people in. He compels. Even monsters like Elias can’t resist. Everybody wants the Archivist.

You know you’re different, though. You love the Archivist. But most importantly, crucially: you love Jon. Maybe it would be better if you had anyone to talk to about it, but the rest of the staff treat your feelings as a joke. Your saving grace is that Jon is so self-absorbed that it’s entirely possible he has no idea. 

Jon changes some. The feelings don’t. It’s been years. 

The conversation you have with him while hiding from Jane Prentiss was probably the first real conversation you’d had with him, like, ever, and the fact that you were able to get through to him about the skeptic thing just fuels your useless hope further. When it’s over, you know he’s not going to be sleeping for a while. You think desperately for some way to help, and settle on the idea of ashes.

Obviously, the ECDC will release not even a smidgen of her remains to you, or at least that’s what they say when you spend a few hours trying to submit a formal request, so you just go down round your local pub and scoop out an ashtray into a bag when no one’s looking. You put the ashes into a little jar and spend a night crafting an official-looking label from a label-maker your last flatmate gave you, and which you’ve kept just in case things need labeling. Like this. 

In the morning, you leave the ashes on Jon’s desk, an offering like all the countless other things you’ve placed there. It’s an apology for not being with him for part of the attack, and you desperately hope it works. 

When you pass by his desk later on your way to the break room, he calls, “Martin?”

You jump. It’s rare that Jon calls for you instead of sending a terse email or text. The last time you were in his office was when he came back to work, when you argued quite strongly that he should take more time off, and he argued just as strongly back that his place was in the archives. At one point, the raised voices had drawn in Elias, who poked his head in and inquired mildly as to what was happening. Jon had said, “labor dispute” shortly and closed the door before turning to argue some more. 

“Y-yes,” you stammer out, and then flush at your lack of composure.

“Thanks,” is all Jon says before ostentatiously turning to fiddle with a tape recorder. You allow him his dignity; respond only with a “sure” before leaving. But you know something’s changed, and that hope lightens your steps as you head back to your desk.


	3. but despite the abundance of it

You move back out of the archives. You can’t let yourself be fooled by Jon’s new demeanor. It’s too dangerous. He’s been more attentive, more watchful. You know he’s suspicious of you, but sometimes you let yourself believe that his glances are something more than evaluative, maybe even appraising. The way his eyes fall on you is different now. 

You still can’t believe he knew so little about you before that he thought you had already died, might be a ghost or some other such spirit tied to the archives, just fetching tea and going through the motions of an already-extinguished, fragile and insignificant life. You’re not sure if this new bout of attention is any better. Whereas before, Jon’s eyes just skittered over you on the way to more interesting terrain, now they rest on you and you feel uncomfortably observed. You decide to ignore this as best as you can and make yourself busy by trying to anticipate Jon’s needs even better than before. The circles underneath his eyes are growing more pronounced by the day, and sometimes he’s clearly not changed his clothes from the day before. You’re beginning to suspect that he isn’t leaving the Institute at night, is instead staying in the files and the dust, poring over his secrets as they begin to chip away at him. 

You moved out in a hurry, attempting to restore some normalcy to your life, but you’re pretty sure you left some things behind. If so, Jon has made no mention of them. 

One day, you notice Jon is walking like he’s in pain. It wouldn’t be that unusual, he’s always been a bit strange, but this time he’s outside your flat. He’s clearly been following you, and when you peer through your lobby window, you see a seeping stain through his clothes that looks too much like blood. It unsettles you enough to go to Elias. You decide not to mention the apparent stab wound, instead note that you and Tim have been followed by Jon. Elias makes all the right noises and promises to speak to him. You leave his office, terrified you’ve done the wrong thing. You leave a roll of gauze on Jon’s desk. Whatever he’s up to, it’s clearly caught up with him. 

He looks up at you next time you enter his line of sight, gestures at the bulky bandage beneath his sleeve. 

“Bread knife,” he says, too loudly. He’s always been a terrible liar. 

“You should get that looked at,” you insist. For whatever reason, Jon actually accedes, and returns a few hours later with neat stitches on his arm. He’s still watching you in that horribly attentive way. You’d always wanted to be the sole focus of his attention, imagined what it might be like in some of your lonelier hours. But this is decidedly not what you had wanted.


	4. let's say you're still completely in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> episode 56

Jon calls you in shortly after. A vein at his temple is pulsing angrily, and he’s jiggling his leg up and down in that way he does when he is agitated. You immediately want to help him, and are shaping your mouth around the request when his brows draw together even more and he scowls at you, mouth turning down in an ugly snarl. He barks, “sit down!” and you do. What could he possibly want? 

He solves that mystery for you in no short time, his voice rising as he questions you about Trevor Herbert. Twisting in discomfort at his anger, you rack your brain. The name sounds familiar but you have absolutely no clue where you’ve heard it before. Maybe there was a long-past assistant called Trevor? 

It turns out he was a vampire hunter, and he died, or maybe not? You’re not really sure, but you haven’t seen Jon this angry in a while. In a way, it’s a bit refreshing. At least if he’s this angry, he isn’t withdrawing into himself and dwelling on imagined slights like he has been. It’s almost a relief to have him berate you again: finally, a return to the old Jon. 

You stammer something about how you thought he was dead, based on some half-remembered gossip that is somewhat belatedly floating to the top of your mind. Of course, you’ve never been that close with the other researchers, so it’s hard to say whether their information is reliable. You’ve spent years just kind of...doing your own thing in the archives and hoping you were staying unobserved. 

Jon doesn’t seem mollified, so you try a different tack in the hopes of getting him to open up. You’ve long since abandoned most hope in that regard, but you’re always eager to grant him another chance. 

“You seem to be taking this a bit personally,” you hedge, and he explodes, shouting about how you’ve been lying to him. This almost certainly has something to do with the way he’s been watching you, surveilling your flat, and muttering darkly when you pass by. Is it really possible he’s found out about the CV?

As your gaze darts wildly around, you notice a paper he’s clutching in his fist. It’s the same paper you use to write to Mum, no, hang on, it’s the _same paper you use to write to Mum._ God damn it, you knew you’d left stuff behind when you moved out, but you thought it was the Keats book, not letters to Mum! Your mind races as you try to remember what you’d written to her. Was it one of the letters where you alluded to your fascination with your boss in an attempt to confide in her? Was it one of the letters where you asked for her to accept you, yet another attempt to stimulate whatever maternal feeling was left? Or worse, one of the letters where you discussed your lies?

It’s the last one, turns out. Jon thinks it’s something more sinister, you can tell by the way he starts ranting about how everyone has secrets. You try feebly to get him to drop it, but he’s got that gleam in his eye that he does when he’s hit a thread of research, eyes alight as he follows it to its logical conclusion. As distorted as it may be by his paranoia, he’s got it right: everyone at the Institute is lying about something, and you’re certainly among them. Finally, he outright shouts, and you fold. You’ve never been able to hold out for too long against him, and his anger is at once exhilarating and frightening to witness. You can’t deny him this even if it hurts you.

You don’t want it to hurt too much, though. You still have people to look out for. Well, Mum, at least. The Archivist leans in like a predator catching a scent as you ask him to promise not to sack you, but agrees impatiently. 

The truth spills from you as if it were a sudden release of pressure. Once it starts, you can’t stop, and you relate the whole story. Halfway through, Jon scoffs, and visibly deflates. By the time you’re done, he’s laughing, though it’s unpleasant and tinged with a note of hysteria. 

“I believe you,” he says, wonderingly, and you despair at how novel this seems to be for him, at how he’s smiling with utter joy at the apparently-rare occasion of someone telling him the truth. 

This is too much to comprehend. Every time you’d imagined this conversation happening, it ended in shouting, or tears, maybe even some slammed doors or handcuffs. Instead, Jon tells you he’s relieved. Relieved that you lied. There’s clearly something terribly amiss, and you resolve to find out what it is. For his sake, and for yours.


End file.
